The End of Summer
by JessieBess
Summary: It's the end of summer and Tom has a special way of celebrating.


AUGUST 1915

Sitting on the thick log that spilled out into the lake, his pants legs rolled up to his knees, his feet dangling in the cool water, Tom felt like he was eight years old again and back on his Grandda's farm where he spent his summers. Oh how he had loved those glorious childhood summers! For him and his siblings, city dwellers used to playing on a rutted dusty, or more often, muddy street, the air filled with smoke from the factories, not a tree in sight, the fields of Angus Ó Maoláin's farm had been a wonderful respite.

Tom looked across the wide expanse of the lake and thought that while his grandfather's three acres might not be that large, especially in comparison to a place like Downton, to the Branson children it had seemed endless. It hadn't been all fun and games for there were animals to feed and crops to tend and roofs to rethatch and a big barn to repair and machinery to clean and repair. He had loved working with the machinery and tools, primitive as they were, since he had always been interested in anything mechanical. Yet, he chuckled, picking vegetables and fruit didn't seem like such a chore when one could sneak bites of vine-ripened tomatoes or freshly picked strawberries.

While there had been plenty of work there had been plenty of time to play too. How wonderful had it been after a day of hard work cooling off swimming in that creek? And somehow fishing for that evening's dinner didn't seem like a chore. The homemade fishing pole he now held in his hands was just like the primitive ones his grandfather had taught him how to make. Of course back then it had been so hard to sit still waiting for the fish to nibble so he and his brothers whiled away the time elbowing and nudging each other until one of them and or their fishing pole ended up in the water. Tom chuckled thinking that each of them probably ended up spending more time in the water than sitting on the log.

Tom smiled thinking that if only his Grandda could see him now sitting so patiently on this log. But it wouldn't only be the patience that would surprise Grandda. Looking around him, at the water glistening in the rays of the late afternoon sun angling through the trees, the lush woods that rimmed this side of the lake in contrast to the other side where an open field gently sloped down to the water's edge, and just visible at the top of that sloping hill was the domed top of the Temple of Diana. He could just imagine what his Grandda would say of that folly. _Folly! Just like the bloody English to waste good money on a silly ornamental building. They don't have the sense-_

"Has it become so dire that you have to fish for you own supper?" the husky voice brought Tom back to the present but not before he quickly wondered what his Grandda would have to say about _her. _

Turning his head towards Sybil he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her standing on the edge of the bank about six feet away from him. Even dressed in the simplest of outfits, a dark blue skirt and blue and white checked blouse, most of her dark hair covered by a wide straw hat, she was lovely and his heart skipped a beat as it always did when he first saw her.

"So what are you doing?" She gave him a curious look for the few times she had seen him out of his green livery he had still been dressed in a suit or at least had paired his trousers with a shirt and tie but today …

Tom felt himself blushing as he noticed Sybil eying his outfit. "I'm celebrating the end of summer."

Tilting her head back and resting one hand on the back of her straw hat as if to hold it in place Sybil replied "I wasn't aware that the end of summer was cause for celebration. Besides doesn't summer end with the September equinox which is still a few weeks away."

A bemused Tom countered "well if you want to be technical about it" he shrugged his shoulders "but see for me summer always ended when school started."

"Oh!" Sybil nodded as if this was a novel idea. Never having attended school herself she certainly hadn't considered this but she still didn't quite understand what he was celebrating.

"It's my afternoon off, the last one of the summer." Tom rested his fishing pole against the back of the log and then heaved himself off, the damp ground cool on his bare feet.

He watched as Sybil sat down on another fallen log that stretched from the top of the bank down towards the lake but not quite touching the water. Walking the five or six paces up the bank he found a sunny patch of sparse grass and sat down near Sybil's feet.

With just the right mix of curiosity and amusement Sybil asked "So how exactly does dressing up like Huckleberry Finn and fishing celebrate the end of summer?"

Tom laughed as he unrolled his pants legs to cover his bare legs. He might have felt embarrassed or uncomfortable if it had been one of her sisters but with her … they had developed a friendship of sorts odd as that would seem to her family and even the other servants. The friendship that had started with talk of women's rights and politics and their mutual love of books now also encompassed deep discussions on the war raging on the continent.

"Well maybe not actually celebrating but more like …" he paused as he looked out at the lake. It hadn't been a lake in his childhood but rather a creek where they had fished and swam and spent countless hours amusing themselves in that way that young boys did.

"My childhood summers were spent at my Grandfather's farm." He angled his face to look at Sybil. "I can't tell you what a treat that was for a city kid being out in the fresh clean air with fields to run in and trees to climb and that creek to swim in."

He turned once again to face the water. "We all had plenty of chores to do but somehow it didn't usually seem like work."

Sybil, sitting silently listening to him, smiled as she watched Tom's glowing face as he talked about those summer days of work mixed with fun, of nights spent sleeping in the barn or better yet those nights when they slept out under the stars and his Grandda would regale them with the old Irish tales, of the wonderful meals his Ma made from the farm's bounty.

"Probably my favorite was strawberries. I'd pick 'em and eat them right away. So sweet they didn't need the fresh cream Ma would make. I don't think I've ever tasted a strawberry as good as those on my Grandda's farm."

Tom looked at her grinning. "You might think I'm crazy but in the month or two before school was out I'd start thinking about the farm and those strawberries."

Sybil laughed. "Actually I can kind of relate to that. When I was young every other summer we sailed to New York to visit my grandparents and all the time on the ship over there I'd think about hot dogs and ice cream sodas."

"Hot dogs?"

"Like a sausage wrapped in a bread roll that you eat with your hands. My grandfather would take me to Coney Island, I don't think it's really an island but it's a beach with a boardwalk and amusement rides and oh so much fun and there were these stands selling hot dogs."

Sybil shifted on the log. "It was probably the novelty of being able to eat something with my hands that was the real appeal."

Tom laughed. "Not something the Dowager would approve of I suspect."

"Definitely not!" Sybil joined him in laughing.

Nodding at the fishing pole resting against the log she asked "So exactly how does fishing fit into this story?"

"Oh that was another delight of those summers. You haven't eaten fish until you eat one cooked outside over an open fire. Grandda would make a fire pit and we'd sit around it eating the fish right out of the hot skillet and that's what I'm going to do tonight."

"You? You're going to cook?"

"I'm not just a chauffeur and mechanic, I'm a man of many talents my lady" Tom teased her and she laughed, that most delightful sound to his ears. "I've already built the fire pit behind my cottage."

Sybil craned her neck to look at the pail sitting on the ground behind the log. "So have you caught anything?" 

Tom snorted. "I told you I'm a man of many talents."

"Well since you were fishing when I came upon you I guess you still need a few more" she laughingly teased him as she stood up. "I guess I better leave you to it."

As she turned to leave, he spoke again. "You asked me earlier what I'm celebrating."

She turned around to face him but he was now staring out at the lake. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "My Grandda died five years ago today and I thought in his honor I'd go fishing and tonight I'll sit under the stars and eat the fish I fried on the fire pit I made behind my cottage and I'll think of him telling us the great tales like the Children of Lir and Fin Mac Cumhail. I'll look up at the stars and think of how he always said the stars represent those that went before us and I'll look for the one that is him. "

"Oh Branson that sounds like a lovely way to remember him."


End file.
